tangent twenty-seven: trypophobia.

Holler.

So here's the deal. I'm in this screenwriting class at school, and our goal for the entire quarter is to write a one-hour original pilot script. Because of my recent Vegas trip I haven't really had a chance to sit down and research for my pilot idea. You're probably wondering what my idea is. Actually, I'm just assuming you're wondering what it is, and whether or not you're actually wondering I'm going to tell you anyway. The show's working title is "Phobia" and it probably won't change but I enjoy writing "working title" because I feel like a legitimate writer. It's about a community group headed up by a psychiatrist that meets in the basement of a predominately African American Baptist church where they talk about strange phobias. That's all you need to know. (Also, that's about as far as I've gotten with it which is why I'm not divulging any more info.) In order to create my characters I have to research weird phobias. There are a lot of people online talking about this and many sites on which to do so. I guess this whole Internet thing is taking off. Throughout my research I have found out that people are afraid of everything. From frogs to buttons to cling wrap. Literally everything. I found these people a little ridiculous until I read one thread that caught my eye. This one woman had posted something about being afraid of clusters of really small things, like holes, or ants, or spots. More people had commented on her post and had noted the same feelings of discomfort. As I was reading all of the threads about this particular phobia I realized that I was reading about myself. I become really really uncomfortable around clusters of small things. Things like lotus seed pods, fern spores, lobster eggs, chicken pox, bad cases of acne (and backne), a dead leaf skeleton, etc...If I see these things a chill is sent throughout my entire body, goosebumps appear, and I start scratching. The hair on my arms stands straight up, and I tilt my head to the side because my neck feels funny. All of this is very true. I honestly thought I was partially insane until a few days ago. Turns out I have trypophobia (also known as "cluster phobia"). If you google that word and look at the images it brings up you will understand what freaks me out so much. You may not understand, but you'll get a visual of the types of things that make me feel itchy and weird all over. When I googled the word it took me a couple of hours to get the images I saw out of my brain. Even thinking about them I have goosebumps right this very moment. If and when you google it you might discover you have trypophobia too. And then maybe we can join a support group and become besties and frolic in meadows that lack clusters of small things. Maybe. I'm not sure if you fix a thing like this or just live with it. It's not like I bawl my eyes out or scream when I see fern spores. It just feels like things are crawling on me. I don't really come into contact with fern spores that often, and I suppose whenever I have kids my husband will be on chicken pox duty. When they go through puberty and acne starts to invade I'm hoping that God will cut both my kids and me a break and not give them bad cases. I can deal with sporadic zits. I guess that's it for today. There are no pictures for obvious reasons. But google the word, and you'll see what I'm talking about. I don't think it's nearly as weird as being afraid of buttons. That guys has issues. Not me. Okay, until next time.

Peace. Love. Holey shit.

tangent twenty-six: happy joke day, fool.

Two tangents in one day. What a lucky son of a bitch you are. That or I have insomnia. This will be shorter than the previous post. I wanted to include a nice little video to commemorate this glorious day of humor (or humour if you're British). Oh how I love kids.

Peace. Love. Hardy har.

tangent twenty-five: duck me.

Hey.

I'm aware of the time. It's 3:27 AM. Don't go, "Holy crap, why are you still up?" That's obnoxious, and it's none of your business. It doesn't matter. This will be short. It also won't have anything to do with April Fools Day. I save those jokes for real people. Not virtual ones. There wouldn't be any payoff for me to play a joke on you. And if it doesn't benefit me then I don't really care. I'm vain. We've covered that already. I got an email from a friend tonight about this blog. I scrolled through and let out a giggle or two. Perhaps even a hearty chuckle at one point. I thought to myself, "These people suck. That face sucks. I am better than these people." Sometime later I checked my blog and noticed something. You might even notice it too. Check the top right corner (or the giant picture at the top of the post). That's me making a duck face. A small duck face. One might even say a duckling face. (How many of you laughed at that? I hope at least one and a half.) I am making a stupid face that girls make on facebook when they're trying to be sexy. In my defense, I'm next to a three-year-old and I'm mimicking her pacifier. I didn't take the picture so I could add it to my [insert popular rap song name/lyric here] album on facebook and have boys give me a virtual thumbs up. Regardless, I should be shot in the foot for such a pose. I think it's time for a Tangent M makeover. Be on the lookout.

Peace. Love. Don't duck it up.

PS: I stayed up a bit longer and changed the look. If you miss the old one or have already forgotten what it looks like (if so, bless your heart) then you can be reminded at tangent two.

tangent twenty-four: God must be mad at me.

All I wanted to do was go on this cruise. Tickets went on sale while I was out of town. I even begged my mom when I found out about it. Apparently it's not appropriate for 24-year-olds to want to do this kind of thing. And apparently I'm supposed to have a job by December 9 (when the glorious boat sets sail). Well I hope you're happy, Mother, because look what happened:

Peace. Love. Quit playing games with my heart, Mom (and God).

PS: If anyone wants to sign me up for the waiting list please feel free. I'll do whatever it takes to get on that boat. Whatever. It. Takes.

tangent twenty-three: everyone Googles everyone.

Hey kids.

It's nice to see your shining faces again. I'm a liar. I can't see your faces. I don't know if they're shining or not. And to be honest, I don't care all that much. Nothing against you. I just don't really know who exactly is reading this so it's hard for me to feel genuine concern for the matter. This is going to be short and sweet. I Google people all the time: celebs, myself, real people, the list goes on. I also happen to check my blog's traffic a lot. Tonight, after I exhausted my procrastination habits between twitter and facebook I decided to see who's been checking out Tangent M lately. I can't see your name so don't freak out. I can, however, sometimes see how you got to my blog. Apparently I'm not the only person who thinks Hodge Wooten is a stud muffin. So, whoever you are, you've been caught. Sort-of. I don't know your name. Only that you're from Marietta. But I know that you found my blog because you googled Hodge. I took a screenshot to prove it (click the picture at the top to enlarge). And I seriously doubt there are two Hodge Wootens running around Atlanta. If so, this city is a better place. Either way, I'm telling him. Okay, off to do work. Maybe. Probably not.

Peace. Love. Heart for Hodge.

tangent twenty-two: these are a few of my least favorite things.

Hey kiddos.

How is everyone doing today? I am in a good mood except for the fact that it's Sunday and I haven't done nearly enough work. That's usually how Sundays go. I freak out because I haven't done enough work, which is really just another form of procrastination. And tomorrow I will be freaking out even more because of my freak out today. It's just how it is. I've forgotten what a weekend is. Since I only have classes on Mondays and Tuesdays my weekend consists of getting sleep on Tuesday night and then freaking out Wednesday about how much work I have left to do. To clarify, the freaking out happens in my head. I do not rip off all my clothes, run around the city, and scream absurd religious convictions to no one in particular. Enough of that. I can tell you're already bored. It is finally sunny in Atlanta and that makes me happy; however, lately it has been grey, soggy, and rainy. But it's been bad rain. Spitty rain. Spitty rain is precipitation consisting of quasi-droplets that feel more like God's cold spit on your face and less like a well needed earth hydration. So until today I have been playing the role of Eeyore: gloomy, grey, and sans my tail (which is true because I'm a human and was born without a tail. I think). It's kind of weird that today is sunny because it would be more fitting for today's tangent to be written on a spitty rain day. It's just weird. It's not ironic, which brings us to today's tangent. My least favorite things. In no particular order.

1. Misusing the word, "ironic". I blame Alanis. She had no business writing a song about coincidences and referring to them as irony.
2. Juicy Couture velour tracksuits. Victoria's Secret Pink line also applies.
3. This season's Real World cast (Real World: DC). MTV, could you have found six strangers any lamer? Bring back Hawaii.
4. Bathroom stall doors that open inward.
5. Music snobs. Go ahead and put hipsters here too.
6. Fern spores. Lots of small things in groups make me extremely uneasy.
7. Cats.
8. Houses that smell like dog. And the people who own these houses and have become immune to the stench.
9. Bad singers on American Idol who get record deals.
10. The Progressive lady.
11. Phantom farters. Also known as Fly-bys.
12. People who tag themselves in facebook pictures.
13. Adults using the word "tummy" when a child is not present.
14. Fat Luke Wilson trying to sell me AT&T.
15. Putting liquids in quart-sized bags before boarding an airplane. What the hell does this prevent?
16. Girls who talk like babies when they're on the phone with their boyfriends.
17. When people act like they're the most surprised they've ever been when I tell them I haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]. Or when they ask, "You haven't seen [insert greatest movie ever made that I have yet to watch here]?" No, jackass. Why would I lie about that?
18. Goatees.
19. Oxygen bars. Tap air is fine by me.
20. Broken escalators.
21. Idiots who ask fat women when they're due.
22. Larry the Cable Guy. Not laughing.
23. Snakes.
24. Cynical people who make lists about things they hate. I don't count.

Generally, I dig life. Generally.

Peace. Love. It's usually never ironic.

tangent twenty-one: Backstreet's back. so am I.

Alright.

Do you see what I did there? I included the same song lyric in the title and the greeting. I'm awesome. Although maybe not to any of you considering it's been, what? like 8 months since I last posted. I'm only a little bit sorry. Life gets busy, and I'm not a good multi-tasker when it comes to big stuff. Little stuff I'm okay with. You know, like watching a marathon on Bravo while simultaneously playing online Bingo and Scrabble on my phone. I'm not sure why online Bingo entertains me so much. I think it's because I win a lot. And even though I don't win anything but virtual tokens, it somehow persuades me to believe that I am of greater importance than the rest of the people on this earth. Or at least of greater importance than the rest of the people playing online Bingo. For one measly moment I am on a pedestal. I think it's pretty safe to say that if I'm the one playing online Bingo and you're the one being productive or perhaps playing real Bingo for real money then you're of greater importance. Well, if you actually win. If not, I'm the one who hasn't lost any money and I still get to play. I know what you're thinking though. How uncool is this chick. Maybe. But at least I'm honest. Also, I'm not uncool. Ask my mom. Okay, moving on. If you are a diligent reader and have kept up with Tangent M from day one, you're already aware that the Backstreet Boys hold a special place in my heart. And by special, I mean a place above any heartthrob who has ever held a spot as my crush, including Devon Sawa, Edward Cullen, and Alex Hau. Alex Hau was my number one crush from 5th grade until 7th grade. He's real. He's not a B-list celebrity or a teenage vampire (at least I don't think he is). He's also German, which adds nothing to this story. If he's like me and googles himself from time to time then he's in for a fun surprise when this post pops up. Surprise, Alex! We're facebook friends though, and my crush on him faded after I left Christ the King elementary school and went to Marist in the 8th grade (at which point I discovered senior football players who were older, cuter, but also did not know I existed). Even if Alex is vain and googles himself, I can't see it being that awkward if he reads this. Flattering, at most. Probably creepy more than anything. Whatever. It's not like he didn't know I had a crush on him back then. I wasn't very good about keeping my mouth shut about it. And I'm sure staring at him from across the room every day for 2 years wasn't a clue. Right. I used to try and like the things he liked. Even though I didn't. For example, due to him I own a neon green canister full of pogs and one glow-in-the-dark slammer. How do you even play pogs? That was something I failed to find out back then. It didn't matter. He never "asked me out". Because in middle school the proper way to make someone your girlfriend is by asking them out, even though you are without a driver's license and a vehicle in which to go out. But it was still protocol. No disrespect to Alex, but this tangent is not about him. This tangent is about The Backstreet Boys. You probably think I'm the only one who still likes them. False. If that were true I probably could've gotten front row seats at the mini concert I went to a few weekends ago in Charlotte. And by concert I mean an outdoor Halloween party put on by a bar and local radio station in a parking lot. Whatever. There was a stage so I'm calling it a concert. On the way up to Charlotte my friend Beth (who also loves BSB with all of her heart and soul) and I began to make fun of our favorite band for having many songs that sound so similar. Strike that. We weren't making fun, we were just commenting while laughing almost to the point of urinating. You know how that goes. Between you and me though, I felt a little bit guilty for doing so. I was under the impression that I was the only one who still fought for BSB and believed in them (because I do and always will). I was wrong. Unless, however, those skanks were there solely for the Halloween party. People enjoy dressing up. Especially skanks. Because for a night they aren't skanks. They're interesting things like bunnies and kittens and other critters that can somehow be transformed into whorish costumes. I don't have a problem with the way anyone dresses. Honestly. It's up to you how you clothe (or don't clothe) yourself. And if you have a banging body, more power to you. My problem with skanky Halloween costumes is their lack of creativity. Also, October usually proves to be a very cold month in many places so it's hard for me to comprehend how a leotard and fishnets keep these girls warm. I saw a lot of skanks at that concert. A lot. And also, if you don't have the body to wear a skanky critter costume then don't. Because now you're skanky and fat and probably freezing your extremely large ass off. I saw a lot of fat skanky Dorothys that night. There must have been a lot of XLs left on the rack. Believe me, I'm not one to harp on anyone's size. I need to lose more than a couple LBs myself; however, I did not subject myself to mockery by wearing a loin cloth that night and calling it a costume so I feel obligated to put in my two cents about those who did. I chose to wear my tried and true devilled egg costume. I've had it since junior year of high school, and I love it. It's comfortable, I can wear anything under it, and it covers my large ass. It's also a pretty freaking cute costume. Poor Beth tried to be an 80s girl but ended up looking more like an 80s hooker. She's not fat and her costume didn't have ears, so she doesn't fall under that category I mentioned earlier. That's a picture of us at the top. It was a fun night. Like I've mentioned twice already, there are way more BSB fans out there than I thought. (I'm still convinced I'm the biggest.) What's funny about it now is that the fans are all grown up. Sort of. I guess by still being fans we haven't grown up that much. In age we have though. We're all able to drink now. And we don't have to have our parents accompany us to concerts anymore (which I'm sure they're thankful about). Before BSB graced the stage with their pretty little faces, a Michael Jackson cover band played for entirely too long. I'm not saying Who's Bad wasn't great, but when you have hundreds of screaming boy band fans you're not who they're there to see. I shouldn't have drank so much because towards the end of Who's Bad's set list I had to pee. Like real bad. I thought I was going to have to pee my pants (which would have been possible considering how big the egg is), but I took the risk and made a mad dash to the porter potties. That took way too long, and I did the pee dance in front of everyone in the line. You know, when you cross your legs and hold it and sing to yourself while swaying awkwardly in hopes the urine will somehow magically disappear from your bladder. I even prayed. Yes, seriously. It was a dire situation, and I needed God to make it happen so I could run, pee, and get back to my pretty good spot to see the loves of my life. It happened. Once I went to the bathroom I raced my eggy body back to the enormous crowd of hormonal females and tried to push my way back to where my friends were. No one was happy about that. I got called a bitch for doing so because people thought I was lying about needing to get to my friends. Understandably so. I saw that stunt pulled many a times that night. I made it though. And when BSB came on I was like a drunken 12 year old who had nothing to worry about in the world. My digital camera sucks so the pictures didn't turn out too great, but I did capture some videos and will include one (or three) at the end of this tangent. When I got home that Sunday I showed my boyfriend the videos and he was speechless that grown women were screaming like little girls over, yes, the Backstreet Boys. It just goes to show that some things never get old (well, okay, the Backstreet Boys are pretty old) but you get what I mean. I'm off to do work. Hopefully it won't be so long until we meet again. Also, you might want to turn the volume down a smidge. The screaming is intense.

one.

two.

three.

Is your heart beating as fast as mine? Okay. I'm out.

Peace. Love. I'll always want it that way.